Camden by Shey Stahl

 

The second I step from the Sawyer mansion and into the circle drive, Scarlet finds me. “You’re going to be late.”

I find it entertaining that Scarlet’s my assistant now and I used to have the biggest crush on her. Like anytime I saw her, my cheeks would turn red. That kind of crush. Given, I was eleven, but still, I think about it from time to time and she never lets me forget it.

“I know. That’s why I’m leaving.” Though I don’t want to go to a party tonight, it’s part of the game when you’re a factory rider with even the barest desire to maybe renew your contract. And my contract is up. For five years, since not even eighteen, I’ve been a factory rider for Yamaha. Now I’m free to make my own decisions about my career for the first time.

I know that’s why Shade, Roan and Tiller asked me to ride for them, but it still surprised me they’d want me.

Scarlet eyes me. You see that expression she holds? The one where she’s looking at me like she’s the mother I didn’t have growing up? There’s a small amount of truth in that, but I know this look. And here comes the warning. “Cam, you know what this will mean, right?”

Told you it was coming. I stare at her for a moment. Scarlet, she’s still as beautiful as the day I met her. She’s constantly pushing blonde curls from her face and stunning blue eyes, she’s wild, laughs at jokes that aren’t funny and is willing to try anything at least once. She’s controlling at times, persuasive when she needs to be and worshipped by half the freestyle riders on the tour right now. Also, very much married to Shade Sawyer.

I think about her question. Do I know what this will mean? For me, or River? Am I thinking it through enough and for the right reasons?

Another problem? Scarlet knows the ties I have to River and knows me pretty fucking well too.

Clearing my throat, I stare at my phone while it rings. “I said I’d think about it, not that I would do it.”

Letting out a careful breath, she tucks a curly strand of her wild blonde hair behind her ear. “I know you and that means yes.”

Groaning, I open the door to my truck. “Not true. I’ve said no before.”

She touches my shoulder. “Not to them, you haven’t.”

Scarlet has a point, one I don’t want to admit. “I’ll see ya around.”

I don’t wait for her to say goodbye before I close the door on her. I don’t want to hear the I told you so I know is coming because she predicted this months ago and I blew it off. Scarlet’s a meddler. She wants in on everyone’s business and inserts herself before you know what she’s doing. Two weeks ago, she caught me flirting with River. I had her backed up against the side of my trailer, my hands in places they shouldn’t be, kissing her neck. Not her lips. Believe it or not, I haven’t kissed her there yet, despite her many attempts to get me to.

I know what you’re thinking. She’s too young for you. Listen, I’m very aware of the six-year, eight-month difference. I am, and normally, I would respect it and her father. The thing is, River knows how to push me to the edge of my sanity and then hold me there, redlined until I break. Until touching her is the only option.

My phone’s ringing again. It’s Maverick. He’s probably wondering where the fuck I’m at. When Scarlet said I was late, she was right.

I’ve always hated factory parties. I don’t like being around the uptight suits who are only looking for one thing. The win. They don’t give a shit about me. To them, I’m a robot. Paid to perform and when I don’t, they treat me like shit.

And on top of that, they serve alcohol and expect you not to react. This isn’t a formal business meeting at these things either. It’s like any other party where you get motocross racers and serve them unlimited booze.

Sliding my finger across the screen, I answer it. “You know, the more you call, the less likely I am to pick up the phone.”

“Where are you?” Mav asks, always searching for where I’m at. If it’s not me he’s searching for, it’s Billie, his girlfriend who sucks more motocross dick than she does his. Honestly, her nickname is Blowie. Not my business, but sooner or later their shit is gonna blow up and I don’t want to be in the middle of it.

Immediately I recognize the frustration in his voice and understand why. I disappear from reality more than I care to admit. I spend days alone, refusing phone calls and lost inside my own thoughts. Some call it depression, some call it a reset, but when you’ve been living your life for everyone else, you need that time alone.

Maverick Madsen, he doesn’t understand it. I met Maverick when I was thirteen racing at Glen Helen, and though I don’t agree with 90 percent of the bullshit he spews, he’s a friend and that’s hard to come by in this sport.

“On my way,” I tell Mav, pulling out of the gate. I sneak one last look at the mansion fading down the hill and the memories it holds for me. One stronger than any other.

Ten years ago

Fourteen was hard enough. In fact, I hated being fourteen. Worst year of my life since my mom died. And the guy who was supposed to protect me found more joy in making me feel less than I am to make himself higher.

“What’s this?” he asked, tossing a condom wrapper at me. I’d forgotten I left that on my nightstand. Fuck. I knew I should have been more careful. Hell, I should have been more careful with my heart too because then maybe Gia wouldn’t have broken it like it meant nothing to begin with.

My eyes drifted to the wrapper laying on the floor. “What does it look like?”

“Don’t be a punk.” He knocked his hand to my shoulder. “I know what the fuck it is, Camden. I’m asking why it’s in my fourteen-year-old son’s room.”

Uninterested in anything but the points for the SoCal series, I raised an eyebrow, barely lifting my attention from my iPad. “At least I used one.” I smiled, knowing my next words would set him off. “You should have.”

By the darkening of his expression, I’d say he knew what I was referring to. My dad didn’t want me. I was the product of a drunken night in Cancun that led to whoops, I have to own my mistake. Jerad Rivera, he came from a wealthy family and had no business messing around with a college spring fling. But he did and then I came into the world, and he resented me from day one. How did I know this? Because he never missed an opportunity to tell me.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“Pretty sure ya heard me.”

Yanking me up by the arm, he slammed me against the wall in the living room. My head snapped back against the sheetrock with a thud. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.”

“Why? Because the truth hurts?” I laughed. In his face. “You should be proud that I’m not making the same mistake you did.”

His jaw worked back and forth, his eyes piercing through me. I wasn’t expecting it, and by the look on his face, I wasn’t so sure he was either, but he hit me. His fist connected with my face before I could move.

My ears rung; my heart, an angry beat to his disapproval of me. Silence echoed in the room, a second between a father and son, and the aftermath more than he will ever truly understand. Because in that second when his hand connected with my jaw, my childhood was gone. I was no longer that carefree Cam-Man I’d been to so many. I don’t know where he went that day, but I know I changed. Or maybe it was an act I gave others in fear of them seeing through to the insecurities I had. I didn’t want them to know the life I had at my dad’s house. I wanted to be known as Cam-Man, the kid who had three non-blood brothers on his side.

Pressing his forearm to my throat, Jerad pinned me there keeping me unable to get away from him. “You’re right. I didn’t want you, you little son of a bitch. But here we are so you had better start showing me some goddamn respect or else next time you’re gonna have more than a bruised eye. Got me?”

Fire blazed in my chest. I hated him. More than I ever had in my entire life, I hated him now, always. I didn’t look at him as tears stung my eyes. I wasn’t brave enough. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to show weakness around a man like him but when you’re fourteen, you’re fourteen, and he’s thirty-six. He held the power I didn’t have.

When I didn’t answer, his arm slipped from my throat, both hands grasping the fabric of my shirt and slamming me back against the wall. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” My eyes slid to his. He’d lost every ounce of respect I had from him in that moment. “Do you understand me?”

I nod, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted me to understand my only existence in this world was because he allowed it. He tolerated me. He... had the power to end me. “Answer me with words, Camden.”

I released a breath and swallowed, my words shaking more than I wanted them to. “Yes, sir.”

His scowl deepened. “You’re fourteen. You don’t need to be out there fucking girls like your no-good druggie alcoholic friends.”

I hated the way he talked about them, like they weren’t good enough. He didn’t know them like I did and he’d never understand loyalty like they did. Hell, he didn’t even have my back. They did though. Always. Forever.

I just… hated my father with every ounce of my being.

When he let me go, I shoved away from him and ran out the door to the one place I found comfort. The Sawyer mansion. I hid out in a spot I knew they couldn’t see from the house, a place I visited frequently and only one other person knew about. Beneath the foam pit overlooking the west side of the property. From there you could see the sunset and the orange glow off the hills in Pasadena.

As the sun faded into the night, I sat on the edge of the track trying to find the courage inside to face my father. I wanted to tell him I hated him and I’d never grow up like him. I wanted to tell him I wished it was him who died and not my mom. I wanted… away from him in more ways than I could express.

At fourteen, I’d won a championship already and started carving a name for myself in the books of motocross, yet he saw none of that. I got good grades but they weren’t good enough for him. I kept busy, out of his hair and still, nothing, not a goddamn thing I did would ever be good enough.

“Cam!” I heard my name called but didn’t bother to look up. I knew who it was. “I won my race!” In the distance, River ran full speed at me, her jersey still on but her moto pants replaced with the cutoff shorts she wore everywhere these days.

An instinctive smile sparked a lift in my lips and before I knew it, I washed away the look on my face and replaced it with one she deserved. “Nice, Riv,” I mumbled. “I’m proud of you.”

I was, always.

Sitting beside me in the dirt, she picked up on the mood. With a rock in one hand and her trophy in the other, she bumped my shoulder, her touch soft and warm, an unexpected soothing I didn’t know I needed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I brushed away tears before she could see them. Clearing my throat, I drew in a deep breath. “Let’s see that trophy.”

Grinning, she handed me the trophy she’d brought over with her. “Cool, huh?”

“Totally, kid. You’re something special, ya know that?” I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

She watched my face intently. “Why are you out here? Dad being a bitch again?”

I laughed, the movement rolling through me. “You could say that.”

“I hate him.” She did. River had this exceptional ability to see through everyone’s bullshit and into their soul.

“You don’t hate me though, do you?” I asked, looking over at her for the first time. Our eyes connected.

Carefully, she took my hand in hers. “You’re my favorite person.”

I couldn’t help the truth that slipped from my lips so quickly I couldn’t take it back. “I’m broken,” I admitted, my heart pumping harder again. The burn in my face pinched when I glared.

River gazed at me, like she saw more than any kid her age should. “I love all your pieces.”

She was only eight years old, yet somehow, someway, our souls knew one another. She was brought into the world the day after my mom died. Crazy, right? Maybe not, but when she said her next words, I knew there had to have been some kind of connection to it.

That was the last thing my mom said to me when she left for the hospital and never returned home.

I value my friendship with River above all the others, because when I don’t fight for myself, she does.

When I was fourteen and her voice was louder than the one to run away.

When I was eighteen and she told me I was enough, mistakes happen.

When I was twenty and I left her in a room, walked away with the taste of her goodbye on my lips after I kissed her cheek for the first time, knowing our lives were forever intertwined.

And now, when I’m twenty-four, still broken, and she’s still there, loving all the pieces she can’t put back together.

With the mansion out of sight, I can think again. And still, unsure being inside my own head is a place I want to be. Do you see that guy in the truck? The one gripping the steering wheel so tight the whites of his knuckles can be seen? The one who spends more time thinking of others than he does himself? That kid, he’s lost. Completely. And I don’t know if there’s any hope for him.

 

Maverick and I end up grabbing dinner in Santa Monica before the party. It’s late when we arrive, and hours past the time I was supposed to show up at Ford’s house.

The second we pull up to Ford’s beachside mansion, I hate that I’m forced to come to shit like this. Believe it or not, I don’t like parties. I enjoyed the ones I went to at the Sawyer mansion only because they made me feel ten feet tall when I entered the room. But other parties? Nah. I’ll pass. Too many people, too many voices, too much demand from an already fractured kid just trying to carve his name in the record books.

Ford West. His dad owns all the Yamaha factory riders, so when he throws a party, they’re expected to support him. I… don’t like Ford. For many reasons I’m sure you’ll understand the moment you meet him. Which, if you look to your left and notice the dude getting his dick sucked by the door while shotgunning a beer, congratulations, you’ve met him. He’s excellent with first impressions, isn’t he?

You have no idea. First time I met him, I was thirteen and he asked if I’d gotten my dick wet. Sure, I knew what it meant. Hello, Sawyer brothers. But no, I hadn’t at the time. Next time I came across his mop of dusty blond hair and controlling gray eyes, I was sixteen and didn’t know any better to stay away from him.

And that’s how I got involved with Ford West and his father. Best, and worst, decision of my life for many reasons. I can’t say I’m depressed that my contract with them is up, but it also leads to a lot of confusion for me as to where I want my career to go. I love motocross, freestyle and enduros. I just don’t know which one I love more.

Avoiding everyone wearing a tie, I make my way around the room, kissing ass like I’ve been trained to do around the suits for the sole purpose of never wanting to burn bridges. It leads me to the massive backyard overlooking the ocean. I stand on the patio; the warm summer breeze kicks up and with it the salt in the air evident on my tongue. Taking a slow drink of the beer I have, I stare out at the waves wishing one of them would take me away with it. I think about the Sawyer brothers and what it would mean to compete with them. They want me to perform for them, and can I handle that?

“Bruh, where ya been these days?” Hendrix bumps into me, his beer spilling over his knuckles.

I turn and shake my head, drifting to the girls watching me. “Around.” My gesture is meant to imply I’ve been sleeping around, when in fact, that’s further from the truth. It’s so far gone you’d need a plane to get back from that lie. I’ve been holed up in the hills of Eisenerz with Roan learning what extreme enduros were really like. But I can’t say that here because my contract doesn’t allow it.

Hendrix Detrick, he’s... how do I describe him? An asshole? Compulsive? No, more like combustible. He’s the craziest normal person I know, but when you set him off, be ready for a nuclear meltdown. “No you haven’t. I’ve been calling your ass.”

He’s right. He has. But like I said, I’m pretty fucking good at disappearing. For the last month, I’ve been in Austria successfully avoiding everyone.

We make conversation and my attention is elsewhere. I’m not thinking about this party, who’s here or even why I disappeared this last time. What I’m thinking about is purple hair and pleading eyes. I’m thinking about those broken pieces she keeps trying to hold together, and knowing she’s part of it.

Somewhere between my second and third beer, Mav hits my shoulder with his. “Hey, isn’t that Gray and River?”

My heart drops at her name. A reaction both predictable, and annoying. My attention immediately shifts and I seek her out. “Yeah, it’s them.” I try to play it off, act like she’s not here, but something about the way Gray’s stumbling around has me concerned. Or maybe it’s the group of guys surrounding them, watching them grind into one another.

They’re putting on a show and know exactly what they’re doing. I also realize Gray must be incredibly drunk to be acting like this in public. She’s extremely reserved at events and keeps to herself.

Now, not so much.

“How long have they been here?”

Maverick shrugs. “Not sure, but fuck, Gray is trashed.” He stares at her ass hanging out of her shorts. “Goddamn,” he sighs. “Why can’t she be single?”

“You’re not single,” I point out, barely able to lift my eyes from River. Adrenaline hits me when I notice the way Ford is watching her. For one, he’s twice her age, and two, fuck that shit. If anyone is going to be with River, it’ll be me.

Maverick hears none of that shit I say about him not being single and waves me off, and if I look close enough, he’s drooling. “We’re not that serious though.”

I suppose he’s right. Like I said, Billie sucks more dick than she does shots of vodka, and that’s saying a lot. I make my way over to them and nod to the door. “Let’s go.” She knows I hate it when she comes to these factory parties, yet here she is, again. Do you know how many times I’ve dragged her out of a party? Too many to count.

River, drunk and flirty, snakes her arms around my waist, her eyes wild and intoxicating. “Cam-Man,” she gleams, her smile wide, eyes hooded but looking at me like I’m the only person who she truly trusts. “It’s about time you came over and said hi.”

“You’re drunk.” Breathing heavy, I try to pull away. “And you don’t belong here.”

She resists, her eyes flick to mine, a familiar annoyance subdued by the amount of alcohol she’s consumed. “And you don’t belong with me. Are you even allowed to talk to me in public?”

My jaw tightens and I fight the urge to push her away from me. I can’t. “Yeah, well, I don’t have much say in that, do I?”

“I don’t know.” Those beautiful, consuming dark eyes capture mine and hold. I’m lost in their depths for a moment, unable to comprehend how bad this looks. I hold on tighter, the music in the room drowning out the intensity of my breathing. She rises up on her tippy toes, her arms secured around my neck. “You’re pretty good at ignoring me. Until the competition looks for an opening.” Her eyes drift to the crowd around her. “Jealous?”

She has no fucking idea how jealous I am of every motherfucker who’s ever laid a hand on her without fear. Holding onto her hips, I refuse to let go for a moment, wishing I didn’t have to. Inching closer, I know what she’s trying to do. Get me to dance with her. I attempt to push her away, gently, but it’s not enough. She holds tighter. Reaching up, I grasp her wrists and gather them together behind my back. “River, stop.”

She eyes me, defiant and determined as always. Her words slur when she whispers, “You’re not the boss of me, Cam-Man.” Her lips inch closer again, grinding into me to the beat of “Batman” by LPB Poody. “But I’d still let you fuck me.”

I hate the way I can’t stop myself from wanting her closer. My jaw tightens, my breath catching when she twists and pushes her ass into my hips. For a second, I forget who’s around us and smile at her antics to get me to relax. Until I realize where I’m at. This isn’t in the shadows between trailers or in my van after a moto without the watchful eyes of everyone else. This is bare to the outside world who doesn’t understand this connection we have.

“Stop,” I breathe, pulling back when I notice Mav and Hendrix are watching us.

“Why?” Her smirk surfaces as she glances at me over her shoulder. She looks so much like Tiller in that moment I’m reminded where I need to draw the line. “Because I’m getting to you.”

“You know you do,” I point out. Remember when I said River knows how to push me to the edge of my sanity and then holds me there, redlined until I break? Until touching her is the only option? That’s what she’s doing now. “It’s a game for you,” I whisper, my face inches from hers, searching for the reasons in those dark eyes that haunt me. “One I refuse to play tonight.” I nod to Gray. “Let’s go. I’m taking you guys home.”

“Fuck that,” Gray draws out, shaking her head and stumbling around. “I don’t have to.”

If there was ever a person like River in this world, it’s Gray Riley. I don’t know how those two found one another, but I think the universe sighed that day and said fuck, what did we do there? Because it’s been trouble ever since. Gray Riley, she’s a NASCAR superstar at eighteen years old, running from the spotlight and well on her way to a championship. Talented as fuck, but kind of an asshole most days. They say she takes after her grandfather, but I don’t know. Never met him. I have met Gray, and every time it’s an adventure.

This time, I don’t give them an option and nod to Maverick. He surfaces beside me, picks up River by her waist and I take a firm hold on Gray.

“Dax is gonna kick your ass for touching me,” Gray warns.

Mav eyes me. “I wasn’t here.”

I laugh. Mav has an insane crush on Gray, yet she’s taken. By world heavyweight boxer Daxel Stone. They’ve been together since she was like fourteen or something and to say he’s protective of her is an understatement. Do you see the way Maverick’s nose curves in the middle? That’s from his last encounter with Daxel and I’m sure Mav would like to forget it.

They fight us the entire way, but not long after I get them in the truck, Gray passes out cold.

I buckle Gray in and then slide easily into the driver’s seat. I glance over at River who looks about as pissed off as she did the time I dragged her out of a guy’s car when she was fourteen and out past her curfew. “Your house?”

“No. Mansion.” She sighs, buckling herself in and messaging someone on her phone. “Wyatt’s having a sleepover for her birthday.”

“And you’re not there?” I take her phone from her hand and toss it on the floorboard in the backseat. “Who are you texting?”

“None of your fucking business is who I’m texting,” she growls, glaring at me. “What are you doing?”

I start my truck, slam it into gear and drive over the curb in the process of trying to get around a Lamborghini parked in my way. “Taking you home and protecting you from you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Camden,” she bites back, holding onto the dash as she bounces around. “I need you to show me the side every other girl gets but me.”

Every other girl? Ha. If only she knew.

River, she’s as independent and hotheaded as they come. I swear she could have raised herself all these years, but the likelihood of her not ending up a cokehead? Slim. She has more of Tiller in her than most realize, and her need for excess runs deep. Addictive personality and wild child combined, she’s lethal and so fucking hard to resist.

Like now. She’s barely wearing anything aside from cutoff shorts and a tank top that covers her tits, and that’s about it. I don’t know when it happened, but River Sawyer went from the little girl I protected to quite possibly the sexiest young woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ve seen models, porn stars, you name it; I’ve seen the most beautiful women all over the world, but nothing, and I do mean nothing, compares to the one next to me. Dark eyes, wavy purple hair down to her waist, a body with the perfect curves. She’s hard to resist and even harder to ignore.

“I know you don’t need me to protect you, River, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone on your side who’s not looking to get their dick in your mouth,” I point out, gesturing toward the house. “Look at the way you’re dressed.”

“So what?” she balks, gaping at me. I’m pretty sure she’s more upset I said I didn’t want to put my dick in her mouth than I didn’t like what she’s wearing, but it’s no surprise that she goes with, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

My eyes drift over her body and then back to her eyes. “You know exactly what’s wrong with it.”

“Ah, I see.” Her cocky grin surfaces. “It’s because you want to touch but won’t let yourself.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, Riv. That’s it.”

There’s no sense in arguing with her. It doesn’t get me anywhere.

Within an hour, I pull up to the mansion and park behind the garage. Reaching forward, I turn my lights off, my eyes on the house. “Do I need to take her somewhere?” I gesture in the back to Gray.

“No,” River mumbles and then scoots closer to me. “Why did you really make me leave that party?”

I search her eyes, unprepared for the weight against my chest. I want to kiss her. I want to take her in my arms and give her everything I can’t, and hope that it’s enough. “I don’t want you at those things.” I lean in and it’s instinctive. “You don’t belong there.” I cup her cheek and tilt my head, telling myself that’s as far as I go. No more. Her gaze burns through me, seeping into my soul where she’s resided since the day we met. Year by year, the stolen glances at one another collected into something more. Something we can’t ignore any longer. Still, I resist because I know where this leads. And Tiller is the last person I want to disappoint.

To my surprise, she kisses me and I know I’m fucked. Without warning. It’s not often someone catches me off guard. But I don’t react, at first. I’ve never kissed her before. We’ve come close, but I usually am quick to turn my head. Why?

Because of this.

Do you see me there? The one who so easily pulls her against me and onto my lap? That guy, he’s weak and knows it. Her lips are soft, warm, like velvet, and a stark contrast to her personality. River Sawyer, she’s anything but that. She’s headstrong, determined, knows what she wants and takes it before someone can tell her no.

She’s a thief, one I’ve spent the last five years running from.

But the kiss, it’s gentle, and before I can stop myself, I let out a groan and wrap my hands around the back of her head, securing her face to mine. I want more. Everything. Anything. All. Of. It. In turn, she clings to me, weightless and willing.

My lungs burn, my heart flops around, begging to be heard, but I’m not listening. I can’t.

In the darkness of my truck, River arches her back into me, her heat igniting the desire inside me. A jolt of pleasure tears up my spine, and I know where this is heading. She’d let me fuck her right here with her friend in the backseat. She wouldn’t stop me because the truth is, River’s been begging me for years.

Grinding into me, a strange thrill shoots through me when I deepen the kiss. It’s more than I can take, and with any other girl but this one, I’d flip her around, shove her face into the dash and fuck her until she begs me to stop. But around this girl, not a fucking chance. I barely have time to think when her hands slip from my shoulders to my waist, underneath my shirt to my bare skin.

It makes my heart race faster. Hell, my goddamn vision even blurs but it’s dulled by the need humming inside me.

She inhales sharply, sliding against my throbbing cock, begging me to give in. She cries into my mouth, rocking her hips into mine. “Fuck me.”

It’s enough that it snaps me out of the trance I’m in. I gasp, my hands on her shoulders. “Stop. We can’t,” I whisper, my voice low and raw with restraint.

She regards me for a moment, her fingertip touching her bottom lip. “I’m not a virgin.”

My pulse pumps louder. Every muscle inside me tightens. That I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-who-you-fuck feeling surfaces and boils inside me. I didn’t want to hear that, for so many reasons, but the second those words left her lips, guilt and anger hit me at the same time, both battling for that top spot and dictating what my next words would be. It should have been me, and then again, it should never be me.

I open the door to my truck and nod. “Go inside, Riv,” I say, my lips hovering just above hers.

“Why?” She glowers at me. Her lips part and I wait for the wrath. “Because you told me to? I don’t have to listen to you.”

I snort and rest my head back against the seat. My eyes catch the rearview mirror to where Gray is passed out in the back seat. She hasn’t moved from where I propped her head up with my helmet. “You don’t listen to anyone.”

This girl, she can hate me all she wants because I know the feeling. I know anger and hate. We’re friends.

“I don’t need to. I can take care of myself.”

I stare at her. I breathe slowly, clench my jaw and say, “You’re just a kid.”

“One you want to fuck. And you’re mad you’re not the one who popped my cherry.” She’s got a dirty mouth and I’d be lying if it doesn’t make my dick jump.

She’s right. I do want to. I’d fuck her until my heart gives out but… she’s seventeen. This is a battle she’s not winning. I’m in control of when this happens. Not her. “I told you, someday,” I whisper against her lips and try to push her off me. She’s unbreakable, but you know, I’m fucking unshakable.

She stares at me stubbornly. Defiantly. Silently. “Why wait?”

My heart pounds faster at the question, my mind working fast to strategize a reply. Everything’s hazy and if there’s any girl who can make me sway, it’s this one. “You know why.”

Her eyes meet mine again, guarded, and I think she considers what I say. But not enough. “Your dick straining against your shorts tells me otherwise,” she says, matter-of-factly, her words piercing through me. I feel her legs twitch and tighten beside me. “You don’t want to say no.”

“I can’t,” I bite back, my voice gritty. “Not until you’re eighteen. And not when you’re drunk.”

She inhales sharply, the breath leaving her lungs and giving me hope she’ll understand. She says nothing. She does know why. We’ve had this conversation since she turned fourteen and tried to give me head. Somedays I want to give in. I don’t want to hold back, but I get a good look at her and see the innocence. She’s still a kid, on the verge of so much, and being tied to me isn’t a thread she needs.

Frowning, I watch as she draws in a careful breath, disappointment evident in her unfocused stare. She refuses to make eye contact with me. Reaching for the handle of my truck, she points to the house with her other. “You know, to them, you were a kid too.”

The real shitty part? She’s not lying. I will always be Cam-Man to them. Never taken seriously, and certainly not Tiller’s pick for River.

And now what am I?

Still that same ten-year-old punk who jumped a fence and never looked back. Drawn to their energy and general lack of fucks given for anything other than dirt bikes.

And now they need my loyalty.

Can I give them that with her around?